


human-shaped

by skybone



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Development, Friendship, Hatred, hatred that maybe isn't quite hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morrigan and Leliana, changing and intersecting over time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	human-shaped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlayerProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayerProphet/gifts).



> Set in a DA universe in which in the Origins backstory the Warden sacrificed herself during the fight with the Archdemon and there was no Dark Ritual; in this story Kieran does not exist.

_Leliana wakes to the cry of a bird. She has been dreaming of the Korcari Wilds, and she does not know whether the cry came in the dream or the waking world. It was not a raven; this is something with a higher, keener call. A predator._

_The witch arrives today. Letters have gone back and forth between Celene and the Inquisitor, or at least their respective Ambassadors, making the arrangements. Leliana rises and prepares for the day, suppressing the rage that the thought has set in her. She advised against this, but the other members of the Council and the Inquisitor saw no issues, and she was overruled._

_The witch._

_She had barely seen her, at the Winter Palace, though she had been constantly aware of her, and ensured that agents reported on her every move. The woman had not tried to approach her, and Leliana had taken care not to be approachable._

_But she had been aware of her: oh yes. No longer in rags, but a dress of dark red velvet with a plunging neckline, trimmed in gold. Morrigan looked elegant, and dangerous, and very beautiful, Leliana’s prediction fulfilled. She was not entirely sure what she thought of that. She was not sure what Morrigan intended by it, though she was certain that her wardrobe was chosen with intent. That woman never did anything that she did not think advanced her own interests._

_There had been that first moment when the witch had passed, and Leliana, inconspicuous in a corner, had recognized her, and her eyes had gone to the dress, and of course she had looked; she had never seen Morrigan dressed like this. Of course her gaze had examined every inch, and closely; fashion was a weapon in the Game. And then, of course, she had raised her eyes to find Morrigan watching her, eyes half-lidded, an insolent smirk on her face._

_No matter. If she is beautiful, she is certainly still dangerous, and entirely untrustworthy. She must be watched._ And I will watch her, even if no one else does.

*           *           *

They met first at the War Table, when the witch was formally presented to the Council. Morrigan was wearing the next best thing to rags again; and what did _that_ mean? Leliana had forgotten quite how much skin her costume exposed. The spymaster had changed her own garb when she became the Divine’s Left Hand, forsaking the common armour that any might wear, and she had almost forgotten what it was like to feel air moving against bare skin; she did not feel the loss. The flowing lines of her mail were her own robes of power, setting her firmly and discreetly within the Chantry hierarchy, hiding far more than they revealed.

It seemed strange that Morrigan would return to her old habits of dressing—or more accurately, undressing—when she came to Skyhold, a notoriously cold keep. What was the purpose? Was it to remind Leliana of the time they spent travelling together, to unsettle her? To offend and distract the members of the Council? It could not affect the spymaster, but perhaps it was intended as a weapon against the others? Cullen certainly blushed, at that first meeting; Josephine raised an eyebrow behind the witch’s back and regarded her with interest, but said nothing. The Inquisitor did not seem to react in any way, but Dalish customs were not those of humans, so it was hard to know if she was offended by the bare skin, or even noticed.

Did Morrigan truly not care what others thought, so that she chose what she wore from habit, or for the sake of comfort and convenience? She _must_ care, it must mean _something_ ; the dress at Halamshiral was not casually selected.

“You know each other, I think?” said the Inquisitor, looking between Morrigan and Leliana.

“We travelled with the Hero of Fereldan,” said Leliana quickly, to forestall any difficult observations.

“Indeed,” said the witch, sounding amused, and setting an arm on a hip in a way that caused her draperies to expose even more skin and Cullen to blush harder, “though it has been many years since then, and it seems that you have changed more than I. Spymaster, is it? You have returned to your first calling, then.”

“Certainly I am not the same person you met then,” said Leliana coolly. And so the first testing strikes were made, and the meeting went on.

*           *           *

It was not hard to avoid the witch in Skyhold; she kept, for the most part, to the gardens or the libraries, her activities visible and perfectly ordinary, and Leliana, as everyone knew, rarely left the Rookery. Morrigan was the liaison through whom Celene communicated, though that did not occupy all her time; for the rest of it, she consumed Skyhold’s books ravenously in her search for arcane knowledge. Her rivalry with Dorian in this became a source of amusement to the Inquisitor and other members of the Council, as both mages did their best to acquire and hold the most rare and esoteric tomes and thwart the other’s attempts to acquire them.

Perhaps it was unnecessary; perhaps it was a waste of resources; Morrigan had come, openly and officially, as Celene’s representative, and Celene was an ally. According to Lavellan she had offered her knowledge and skills to the Inquisition in its search for information on Corypheus. But allies have their own interests, and in the Game one always looks for leverage.

Leliana assigned agents to watch and report, but the reports brought little of interest. The witch haunted the libraries. She spent her time in the gardens reading. She was looking for information that could help the Inquisition, or so she told the Council. The spymaster wondered what else she was looking for.

Leliana wondered at the frivolousness of fate, casting them together again after so long, forcing them to work as allies. Morrigan would never be an ally. She was cruel and elusive and cared only for herself. In that, Morrigan was the same as she ever was.

But now she was more self-contained, and her amusement had a different quality to it. She was relaxed. Ten years ago, the witch’s anger and contempt had a brittle edge, a tension that was no longer there. She still taunted, still was casually cruel, still was contemptuous of others, but sometimes it seemed her weapons were wielded by habit, or for the sake of amusement, rather than as an actual attack. Ten years ago the barbs were intended to hurt; now she did not care.

Ten years ago, Leliana realized with a sudden clarity, Morrigan had been afraid. Now she was not. Now she was comfortable in her skin.

Ten years ago Morrigan had been shaped and honed to a fine point by her mother, had barely touched the lives of others, had never travelled far from the wilds. Ten years ago Morrigan was afraid of everything. Now it was different. Leliana did not know where Morrigan has been for those ten years, but she doubted it had been entirely in isolation from the world.

Ten years ago, Leliana had been an innocent, believing in salvation, believing in the Maker’s love. She had been a fool. Now she was not, and her skin itched and burned around her, tight and hot, and her hands twitched for a weapon.

No matter. They were as they were. Leliana knew what was important, and would do her duty.

“You were friends with Morrigan, travelling with the Hero, were you not?” Josephine said hesitantly, and Leliana responded without thinking, a thread of anger in her voice that she would not have permitted if it had not been Josephine and she had not been taken by surprise.

“Not friends. Morrigan does not have friends.”

There was a moment of silence, and Josephine said, “A pity. I have been trying to understand her. She is... abrasive.”

“Has she been rude to you?” Of course she had. The woman was incapable of the most basic level of courtesy. And to be rude to Josephine...

“She has made it clear that she does not require my services,” said Josephine evasively. “I showed her her room, and the libraries; she seems to have no interest in anything else. I offered to help her obtain any items she might need through my contacts, but she said that she will use her own connections, as the books and other things she needs are specialized and not available through normal trade channels.” ( _These things are not potatoes;_ your _contacts have no chance of obtaining them_ , was what Morrigan had actually said, contempt in her voice, but Josephine did not mention that.) “I have told her to inform you—or Charter—of any activities if she does so, or report it to the Council.”

But Morrigan, if she was pursuing her own outside contacts, said nothing. Leliana focused her attention more closely.

*           *           *

A raven came and went from the witch’s chambers at night, said those who watched; perhaps she was receiving messages privately? Leliana scowled. She knew that no one sent messages. She knew that Morrigan was off on excursions of her own, shapeshifting into a form that the spymaster and her agents could not follow. Occasionally she disappeared for days at a time. Leliana warned the Inquisitor, who simply sighed and said that it was reasonable for someone searching for information to spend time travelling. Leliana suspected that Lavellan had spoken to the witch, and been rebuffed, but she did not know for sure.

Leliana knew that Morrigan knew that she was being watched; the fact that she did not trouble to hide her comings and goings showed her contempt for the spymaster’s efforts. _You cannot follow me everywhere_ , the message said clearly. _You are a fool for trying_. Leliana set her teeth just so, and seethed, and doubled the watch on the witch when she could.

*           *           *

And now the witch taunted her, even in her own lair. A strange raven joined the others in the Rookery from time to time. It was wild and elusive, with feathers that gleamed blue-black and never showed the least speck of dust. It did not trouble to hide its presence, to pretend that it was only one of those who come and go with messages. It did not take the grain that was put out for the others. It sat on the top of a cage and watched the spymaster. _I can watch too_.

Leliana ignored it, for the most part. She could complain to the Inquisitor, but of what? The raven only came late, late at night, when the hold slept and Leliana was alone. It never approached closely enough to read her writing. If a scout came to report, the bird immediately left. She could not complain that it was spying.

It simply watched her, endlessly. If she complained, her annoyance would give the witch a weapon against her. It was what the woman wanted.

She had been outmaneuvered. She was furious, and helpless.

She was civil to the witch, but only just. She knew that for once she was not entirely capable of hiding her feelings, and so she allowed herself to express a mildly contemptuous distaste. It was better than showing the anger that would reveal weakness. The other members of the Council certainly noticed her dislike of the woman; the Inquisitor remarked on it. Josephine, always attuned to matters of courtesy and its lack, had done more than remark on Leliana’s attitude, and had tried to question her about it, but Leliana had, with a diplomatic gentleness that she reserved only for the Ambassador, made it clear that Morrigan was a subject she was not prepared to discuss. And Josephine had sighed that small, subtle sigh that communicated that she would accept Leliana’s position, however misguided, and moved on to another topic.

The witch attended far too many Council meetings, to Leliana’s mind. She was Celene’s representative, yes, the advisor sent from the Imperial Court, but she was not an Inquisition advisor, and did not necessarily have the interests of the Inquisition at heart. The spymaster said so, once, to the Inquisitor, who looked at her thoughtfully.

“I am aware of this, Leliana,” she said. “We do not discuss sensitive topics in her presence, only those issues for which we hold a common concern.”

And it was true, but still... Morrigan’s opinions carried far too much weight, as far as the spymaster was concerned, and were not always sensible. She resented having to argue against them.

*           *           *

It was a great sorrow to Leliana that she could not keep her nugs with her in Skyhold, but it was not practical; they were at war, and there was no room for creatures who did not work. She missed them. She was not as fond of cats, who did serve a practical purpose, but she liked them, and appreciated their company. There were certainly a great number of them, kept in the kitchens and stables and forge to keep the vermin under control, and they wandered through the hold, making friendships with the other inhabitants. She generally discouraged them in the Rookery—they were, after all, predators—though she doubted that any could do serious harm to her ravens, and in fact were more likely to come out the worst in any conflict.

But the few cats that did venture into the Rookery and showed no signs of aggression towards the birds were tolerated; the scouts enjoyed their company. So did Leliana, for that matter; it was a pleasant thing to have a purring ball of fur on your lap when you were working late at night, tired and frustrated and worried beyond bearing. They were calming. She knew she was not the only one to succumb to their influence; Cassandra, though she might never admit it, slept with a clutter of cats in the armoury, and likely would have been even worse tempered if she did not.

The cats came and went, so it was no surprise when a new one showed up. This one was all black, arrogant and elegant and diffident—in other words, exactly like every other cat. It made friends first with Miller, who had come to Skyhold to receive new orders, but after she left on assignment it became a favourite with the runners who waited to carry messages. It wandered over to Leliana eventually, and looked at her enquiringly. She stroked its head and under its chin—it purred—and it crouched under her table for a time as she worked, rumbling. Over the next week or two it visited several times, attentive yet somewhat reserved. It allowed itself to be caressed, but never for long; it brought a mouse more than once, and laid it before the spymaster’s table with a certain level of delicate pride; it accepted her praise and the saucer of milk that she offered as a reward. It would leap on her table and scatter her papers with playful enthusiasm, and she would give a resigned sigh and smile and gather them together again with insincere remonstrances, but it would never accept the invitation to curl up in her lap.

And then Morrigan presented new information on eluvians to the Council, information which she said required attention and follow-up. Josephine and the Inquisitor seemed inclined to agree, but Cullen was dubious and Leliana argued strongly against the proposed action. Such arguments were common enough, and sometimes grew heated, but in this case Leliana found herself a direct target of Morrigan’s tongue, and responded with a stubborn anger and contempt that she was not entirely able to suppress.

Finally the witch looked at her and said with an arrogant smirk, “Are you entirely incapable of listening to the voice of reason if it comes from me? Do you have so little ability to separate yourself from your prejudices? Would my opinions receive more consideration if I accompanied them with a mouse?”

Leliana did not draw her weapons, but it was a very close thing. Lavellan looked between them. “What are you talking about?”

“Your spymaster,” said Morrigan sweetly, “ is not half so kind to me as she is to Skyhold’s cats. Her enmity clouds her mind. Take that into consideration when you make your decisions, Inquisitor.” And she turned and left the room.

*           *           *

Leliana was beyond rage. She had been made a fool of, and in front of the Council. It was clear that they did not have the least idea of what had happened, but it was also clear that Morrigan had in some way attempted—and succeeded—in scoring a point against Leliana. The fact that they if they had known the details they would have likely found it a minor thing, and more than slightly amusing, did not help.

She allowed herself for one entire evening to contemplate having the witch assassinated, and explored options for doing so, but recognized the thought as foolish. Her emotions had weakened her in the past; she would not allow them to do so again. When the question was examined rationally, despite her belief that the witch was afforded too much respect and too little suspicion, it was true that she did contribute in ways that benefitted the Inquisition. Killing her would be a waste of resources and would harm their relationship with Orlais. She could imagine what Josephine would have to say about such an act, and none of it was pleasant.

At the heart of it, Morrigan was not civilized, but Leliana was; she would not react reflexively. But the incident confirmed her belief that the woman cared more for her games than for anything else. Nothing could pry her attention away from the witch now; her every move would be watched. “She is an ally of the Inquisition,” she said to her agents, “and must be protected. But she is also an agent of Orlais, and if they are acting independently we must know of it. Watch her closely.” She did not say that she did not believe that Morrigan acted as an agent of any save herself; it was not necessary.

As she had taken to disappearing for extended periods, word had been spread to the chain of agents throughout Thedas; watch for the witch. Inform the Nightingale of her activities. She had been seen, briefly, in a number of places. She was up to something.

The most worrisome sighting was in Tantervale. It lay near the border with Tevinter, and was known to harbour agents from that nation. And now, doubtless, it also harboured Venatori. Was it possible that she was dealing with them? Was it possible that she was working with them? Morrigan had never cared for anything but knowledge—the woman convinced the Hero to kill her own mother!—and she would likely ally with anyone who might offer it.

She was seen meeting a man with suspicious connections; Leliana focused her attention on him, and dug deeper.

He was a Tevinter who had some kind of connections with the Venatori. It was unclear whether he supported them; he seemed to be a smuggler, facilitating the transport of suspect goods for anyone who would pay him. That was worrisome. It might be that Morrigan was simply trying to acquire knowledge; but a channel that sends information one way may also send it the other, and may do so even if it is not the intention of the person using it. This was reckless behaviour. Leliana might not be able to watch Morrigan reliably, but the Tevinter did not have her advantages. She set agents to watch his every move, and those of his associates. If Morrigan contacted them directly, in her own person, she would know. She told herself, and others, that it was for the witch’s protection; if Morrigan was in danger, they would be able to protect her.

And if Morrigan betrayed the Inquisition, they would be able to act.

And then it all went sideways. Afterwards, receiving the reports, it was clear what happened, but at the time all was confusion. Morrigan met the Tevinter again. But this time someone was careless, and let themselves be seen, and it was an agent that the witch had seen with Leliana. Her reaction was subtle, but the smuggler lived on his ability to read such situations, and saw it. He drew a weapon. The other agents, tasked with protecting the witch, showed themselves; and he ran.

Word of the debacle reached Skyhold before Morrigan did, but not a full report; that only came after Morrigan’s return. The witch glided into the Rookery and for once not did not try to disguise her shapeshifting ability from anyone. She shifted in midair, landing catlike beside the spymaster’s table, already spitting with rage. The agents reacted, weapons drawn; the witch ignored them.

“Sabotage your own endeavours with the carelessness of your clods, but leave mine alone!” she hissed.

Leliana gestured, and the agents lowered their weapons, though they did not put them away. There was lightning crackling around Morrigan’s hands as her fingers flexed. “If you do not wish to be watched, do nothing in secret,” she said.

“It is to avoid the idiocy of oafs like yours that I do things privately!” shouted the witch. “I spent weeks, nay, months, setting this up, and you have ruined it! And you do not have the least idea what you have done, have you?”

Leliana set down her quill. “No doubt you will inform me.”

“There is a book that is rumoured to exist,” said the witch through her teeth, “a very old book, that speaks of the magisters, and those who reached the Black City, and the beginning of the Blight. A forgotten history. Most believe that the book no longer exists, but my research showed that there might be one copy in Tevinter. _One copy_. Such a book would be priceless. Such a book could give us information about Corypheus, information that might reveal weaknesses. And so I have been searching for that book, and finally found rumours of it, and made inquiries, and arranged to have it removed from its archive and smuggled out. The price for this has been paid, in gold; this meeting was to receive the book itself. And _that_ is what you have ruined. Those I dealt with have withdrawn entirely, thinking it was a trap, and refuse to respond to my communications. My contacts have all flown, and the book is lost to us!”

“Perhaps,” said Leliana evenly, though with a sinking feeling in her gut, “it would be in your hands now, if you had behaved as an ally instead of an enemy.”

“Enemy! _This_ is why I act in secret: I am constantly thwarted by fools who do not understand the least thing about what I do, or its importance! Who assume that everything they do not understand is evil! Do you not comprehend the _value_ of such knowledge? You were a fool when we travelled together years ago, so certain that you knew so much of the world; I thought that you might have acquired some sense since then, but evidently I was wrong!”

Leliana gestured, and the agents withdrew to the other side of the rotunda. Their weapons had not exactly been put away, but they were not quite so evident. “It is clear that _you_ believe it is important. But it is less clear that such knowledge, once acquired, would be put to the use of the Inquisition. Why should anyone assume that your knowledge would be put to our service, had you acquired it, and not used solely for your own benefit?” Her tone was biting; she had become very angry, though she kept her fury in check and her voice low.

The witch was actually trembling with rage. “I was sent as an ally by Celene. I agreed to put my arcane knowledge and the fruits of my research to the Inquisition’s use: I gave my word on that to the Inquisitor. Is that not enough for you? Am I mistaken in believing that Lavellan leads the Inquisition? Should I be bowing to _you_ , instead, secure in your pompous infallibility?”

Leliana lost her temper. It had been a very long time since this had happened; she had found ways to calm her own rage, to harness it, to sheathe it in a casing of burning ice, to wield it as a weapon. But now, somehow, the casing had cracked.

“You gave your _word_? Do you expect me to believe anything you say? To trust you in anything?”

“The Inquisitor accepted my word,” said Morrigan furiously. “Are you saying that the Inquisitor is a fool?”

“The Inquisitor does not know you,” hissed Leliana.

“And you do? You are so _very_ certain of yourself, spymaster!”

“I am certain of your nature as of anything in life,” said Leliana bitterly. “You have shown it too often.”

“Ah,” said the witch. “Did I hurt your pretty feelings, when we travelled together? Were my words such sharp weapons that they pierce you even now, as if you were a child?” Her voice was dismissive, contemptuous, a rapier opening old wounds.

“You killed the Warden,” said Leliana before she could stop herself.

Morrigan blinked, her expression blank and for once baffled. “The Warden died when she fought the Archdemon. It is my understanding that you were there to see it.”

“Oh yes,” said Leliana bitterly. “As you were not.”

“Is _that_ what this is about?” said Morrigan incredulously. “My presence would have made no difference in that battle. You know that perfectly well.”

“If you had been there,” said Leliana, the words half strangling her, “it is possible that the battle would have gone differently. It is possible that Alastair might have been the one to make the sacrifice.”

There was a flash of an expression in Morrigan’s eyes; it might have been anger. It might have been something else.

“Oh, no,” she said sweetly. “Your Warden made that choice, Leliana. Do you truly believe that a clod such as Alastair could have killed the Archdemon? You know better, and so did she. She chose to be the one to deal the blow. She chose to die.”

“No one _chooses_ to die. They sacrifice themselves because there is no other choice!”

“But there _was_ another choice,” hissed Morrigan, her voice low and tight. “I offered it. There was a ritual that could have saved her, could have saved all of them.”

There was no air, none at all. “I do not believe you.”

“Believe what you like. But if I had lain with Alastair that night, I could have ensured that a child was conceived. And that child would have been tainted, because of the taint in its blood; and then when the Archdemon was killed, its soul would have entered the child. The child would have had the soul of an Old God, but freed from corruption, and no Grey Warden would have needed to make the sacrifice. I was not certain that Alastair would agree to such a thing, because he hated me, so I asked her to intervene. But she refused to help me. And more: she did not just refuse to help persuade Alastair, she went to him and convinced him that he must not listen to anything I said. And so he refused me, without even hearing me. And so she died.”

“No,” said Leliana, voice shaking. “She would not have done that.”

“But she did,” said Morrigan. Her voice was bitter and angry and raw in a way that Leliana had never heard before, and her hands had clenched into fists, were shaking; there was a taste of ozone in the air. “She believed that the ritual was evil; she made that plain. She called the child demon spawn, and would not listen to the truth, would not hear me. Even to _consider_ the possibilities I offered went against her faith. Nothing I said could alter her mind. From that moment, all that happened was inevitable, and there was no changing it. She was your lover, but she was also my friend. Do you think that I would stay to watch her die? You are three times a fool, if you believe that.” And she stalked away for three steps, back stiff and unyielding, melted into feathery blackness and was gone.

\-----

It could not be true. It could not.

But Morrigan did not lie, unless she had changed very much; she did not respect others enough to bother to do so.

And in all honesty, it was something the Warden would have done. Her faith was strong and unwavering; it was one of the things that had brought her and Leliana together. But her faith was narrow. It did not always accommodate opportunity in the way that Leliana’s had, back then.

 _But I too would have died, back then, and willingly, if it had served our cause. I would have died for my faith. Her willingness to do so as well was something we had in common, that drew us together. And a demon-spawn child_... No. She could not fault the warden, though it broke her heart.

Leliana was as proud of her knowledge as Morrigan, in her own way, knowledge gained through hard work and careful planning and the synthesis of a brilliant mind, if not through the archaeology of libraries. Proud of the secrets she extracted as carefully as snowflakes from a glacier, and set aside to keep and use. Of the understanding of how to fit them together to make weapons of ice and fire, to control, to destroy. But she had not known this, and it galled her. The Warden had been not just her friend, but her lover, yet had said nothing of this on that last night before the battle; that was a bitter thing to hear, that she had not been trusted that much.

Morrigan said that the Warden had been her friend; could it be true? Certainly the Warden had told Leliana that she liked the witch, despite all; “She is as honest as she knows how to be,” she said once, “and her views show me things that others cannot.” But she had not thought that Morrigan had liked anyone. She had certainly hidden it well.

But then, Leliana had not been privy to the Warden’s meetings with the witch, off by the campfire that she kept insolently apart from the others. She had asked once what they spoke about. “Any number of things,” the Warden had said. “Her mother and her history, mostly.” Then, “Are you jealous? You need not be, my love.” And Leliana had sputtered in outrage about the impossibility of that—though jealousy had indeed been part of it—and the Warden had laughed and shown her that there was no need for such feelings.

She had not in her wildest dreams imagined that Morrigan had _liked_ the Warden, that she considered her a friend. What did such a woman know of friendship? Nothing. She had never had a friend, after all, bound to her mother and the Wilds; how could she possibly know of such affection? It was all for her own interests, always and only.

Leliana’s mail was smooth and cold and heavy on her shoulders.

_Do you think that I would stay to watch her die?_

*           *           *

The witch, predictably, reported the debacle to the next War Table meeting, when asked to report on her researches. “If I am to succeed in my endeavours, Inquisitor,” she said, “I _must_ have the freedom to operate as I see fit.”

“I see,” said Lavellan, and turned to the spymaster. “Leliana?”

“I made an error in judgment,” said Leliana stiffly, “and we have lost the opportunity to acquire the information Morrigan was seeking. That much is true. But it is my understanding that Morrigan was to keep me informed of her activities, and she has never done so. That made me suspicious.”

“Indeed,” said the Inquisitor, and paced back and forth for a moment. Then she turned and surveyed the Council, letting her eyes move over each of them in term, finally looking at the witch and spymaster. “It is clear that the distrust between you is mutual, and that is what is at fault here. I don’t give a damn what you think of each other, or what you believe of each other, or why you believe it. But you _will_ work together, and do so without allowing your assumptions to interfere. Leliana, you will back off and give Morrigan space; you do not need to know every morsel she eats for breakfast.” The witch made a satisfied sound, and Lavellan’s gaze locked on her. “And Morrigan will inform Leliana as to where she is operating and what she is doing, at least in general. You do not have to explain each detail, but our spymaster must at least know, for example, that you are working to obtain a book, and making enquiries in Tantervale. This is _not_ an optional requirement; if you are our ally, behave as one.” The look of satisfaction slid off Morrigan’s face, but she nodded, if reluctantly, and so, when Lavellan’s gaze slid to her, did Leliana.

After that the witch, never one to enjoy the companionship offered by others, became even more abrasive than before, and isolated herself as thoroughly as was possible in such a busy, crowded keep. So, in her own way, did the spymaster. True to her word, Morrigan had finally made it known to Charter that she was investigating rumours in two cities in the Free Marches; in return she had been informed of how to contact agents in those cities if she needed support. Word had been sent to Leliana’s agents throughout Thedas to leave the witch alone unless she requested assistance.

It was an uneasy detente. Leliana felt even more unsettled around Morrigan than she had before, though for different reasons. She still did not trust the witch.

But at the same time, she realized that there were things about Morrigan that she had not known, or misunderstood. She found that knowledge of her own errors only increased her anger toward the woman. But that reaction was both predictable and unworthy, and weakened her. She could not afford to allow emotion to rule her.

On the whole she found her thoughts of the witch now were confused and contradictory, and she preferred to avoid her entirely. Charter could deal with her, when there was need.

*           *           *

The Inquisitor had drunk from the Well of Sorrows. Leliana was not entirely certain that she approved of this, and would likely have stopped her if she had been there, or at least tried to. Yes, Lavellan was Dalish, and heir to the knowledge of the Well, but to do such a thing without knowing the outcome—that was very dangerous.

But it was done. And Morrigan had been stymied. _For once the witch did not achieve her goals_ , the spymaster thought, righteously satisfied. _Good_.

And Morrigan was satisfactorily angry about it; that was clear from her bitterness, her goading, at the War Table. _She_ could have done so much better. _She_ would have known exactly how to use the knowledge acquired.

And _she_ could have taken that knowledge and left them to their fate. Oh yes. Leliana might disapprove of the Inquisitor drinking, but not half so much as she would have disapproved of Morrigan doing so.

But the witch did not leave, which was a surprise. The Morrigan of ten years ago would have flounced away in selfish rage, and that would have been the end of it. This Morrigan had stayed, despite being prevented from getting what she wanted.

What did this mean? It must mean something; the witch would not have stayed unless there was some self-interest in her doing so. It could be nothing else. Her position as Celene’s liaison, as someone who was an ally in the search for a weapon against Corypheus, was not enough to keep her there. It was almost as if she thought there were other options, other possibilities to take advantage of. That was worrisome.

It made the spymaster nervous enough that she could not leave it alone. She told herself that it was the interests of the Inquisition that she served when she prodded Morrigan about it; if she could unsettle the witch, anger her, she might learn something.

Morrigan was in the garden, of course, still reading; her voracious assault on Skyhold’s libraries had not stopped. “I am surprised that you still bother to read, now that the Inquisitor has drunk from the Well and found the knowledge you pursued,” Leliana said to her.

Morrigan gave her a scathing look, but did not seem as upset by Leliana’s remark as she might have hoped. “There is still knowledge to be found,” she said. “And likely it will be needed, given that Lavellan can barely understand what the voices say. Well, ‘tis not surprising, in one who knows so little of her own history. If fools choose to hobble themselves we must make do. Perhaps her choice will not be the end of us—but if it is...” she shrugged in an elegant and insolent fashion.

“We are as like to be hobbled by the betrayals of a witch,” said Leliana, stung. But Morrigan only laughed.

“Oh, I will work in your service, at least until a weapon against the monster is found,” she said, “even though the fears of fools prevent me from gaining knowledge that could be put to use. But it is _interesting_ that you see me as such a threat. In what way do I endanger you, I wonder?” She stood and paced slowly round the spymaster, stopping behind her. Leliana forcibly prevented herself from turning; it would not do to show weakness. “Am I _such_ a fearsome thing to you?” she breathed in Leliana’s ear. “Am I so unsettling, even now?”

“Fearsome?” said Leliana. “I think the word you are looking for is _untrustworthy_. You are as you have always been, motivated by self-interest and nothing more.” Her breathing was entirely under control, she was certain of it.

“Ah,” said Morrigan, and there was something undefinable in her voice. “You are not entirely correct. There are other things that motivate me occasionally. But certainly I know myself well, and my choices reflect that. Can you say the same?”

“ _My_ choices reflect a belief in more than myself,” said Leliana carefully.

The witch moved again; she returned to her seat and picked up her book. “Perhaps in your choices you should consider yourself more, then, given your tendency to error.” She flipped through the pages to find her place, and said no more.

*           *           *

The raven still watched, late at night in the Rookery. Leliana could not understand this; what did Morrigan hope to achieve? What did Morrigan expect of her, that she watched so closely? She felt as if the witch was watching someone else, someone who stood invisible and adjacent to her, someone who was not quite the same shape as she.

It was disturbing.

*           *           *

And then she and Lavellan went to Valance, and it all came to a head. “Release her, Leliana,” said the Inquisitor, and the life that hung in the balance was not Natalie’s.

The Inquisitor was wrong. Natalie must die, for the greater good. Her anger told her that this is the right thing, the only thing to do. She was certain of it. But she hesitated.

There were alternatives. There were times when she had chosen them.

She lowered the knife.

Back at Skyhold, she felt as if her feet had been swept from under her; she felt less certain and more certain than she had in many years. She looked at the raven and thought of shape shifting, and the integrity of Morrigan’s hard yellow gaze.

For the first time in many years, she thought, she stood fully in her own skin.

*           *           *

Morrigan returned from the Altar of Mythal badly disturbed, and the Inquisitor’s report on the events that transpired there gave the Council fresh things to worry over. Could it be true that Lavellan was now the servant of Mythal, bound to her in some strange way?

But now the witch was leaving. They had what they needed to use against Corypheus; they had knowledge and a plan. She was no longer needed. In a few days Morrigan would return to Celene to report, and then move on to an unknown destination; she did not, says the Inquisitor, seem to know herself quite what she would do.

Leliana could not understand why she was drawn to approach the witch, in the final days before she left. They were not friends. But they seemed no longer quite enemies; they were something else, something she did not quite understand. And strangely she did not feel anger over Morrigan’s upcoming departure; things would happen as the cards fell, and her presence or absence would not make a difference to how things unfolded. This was their tale to tell; Morrigan was only an observer.

“Your mother,” she said to Morrigan, “is not what she seemed to be, I gather.”

The witch looked back; for once there was no spite in her eyes, only consideration, despite the spymaster’s challenge. “Oh, I think that she is what she seemed to be,” she said. “But evidently she hid more than she ever showed. She has her own agenda—or Mythal does. And I am not certain what it is.”

“I should think that the agenda of a god would be hard to understand,” said the spymaster.

“‘Tis hard to discern her purpose, certainly,” said the witch. “It stretches back over many hundreds of years, and we do not know all that shaped it. But if I know anything, it is that she has a purpose.” Her voice had tightened.

“Morrigan,” said Leliana, “if the ritual had been completed—what would that have meant, to Mythal?”

The witch looked at her for a moment, and then looked away. There was a long silence. “You are asking if I was dancing to her will, even then,” she said finally. “The truth is—I do not know.”

Leliana believed her. It was an unlikely and somewhat uncomfortable sensation, this belief, like a winter coat lined with coals instead of fleece, but at the same time it settled on her shoulders with familiar comfort.

“Will she try to use the Inquisitor, do you think?”

Morrigan smiled, a grimace that did not reach her eyes. “She does not _try_. She uses all of us. But she does not instruct; she sets us forth as pieces on a playing board. We may choose the moves we make—but she has set the patterns and we do not have the freedom we think.”

Leliana looked at her shadowed yellow eyes, the eyes of a wolf, a raven, the unknown, and said, “Is that not true of all of us? That others set the patterns that we dance to?”

This time the smile was real. “Perhaps it is,” said the witch. “Perhaps it is.”

*           *           *

The raven still watched, and Leliana found she did not mind. It was a companion in the small dark hours of the morning, when she should be in her bed and could not find its comfort. There was a blade that had fallen on both of them in its way, granting a strange fellowship of fear and pain.

“I wish you well,” she said to the witch on the last day, quite honestly.

Morrigan looked at her then, properly, her gaze calm and strange, seeming to weigh something. Leliana did not think she had ever before felt that gaze on her in quite that way. It was not entirely comfortable. “Do you? Have miracles happened, then? Do you think that I have been softened and made kind by the revelations of the last days, to be worthy of your good wishes? I assure you that I have not.”

“Will you never change?” said Leliana, irritated. Morrigan smiled.

“Perhaps I will. Or perhaps you will. Or perhaps we never change, not one of us; it is just that we do not always understand all that we are.” And she curtseyed, formal and perfect in execution, an insolent, arrogant gesture of respect.

*           *           *

_It is over. Corypheus has fallen. There is still a great deal to do in the aftermath; Leliana remains as the Inquisition’s spymaster. The world has come close to ending, and the work to rebuild must go on, and it will consume them for a long time to come. Vivienne goes to ascend the Sunburst Throne; Leliana is worried about her intentions, but glad that someone has finally taken control of the Chantry. The other companions scatter in their various ways; Cassandra to try to rebuild the Seekers, Varric back to Kirkwall, Sera—well, who knows where Sera goes; but Leliana’s agents report sometimes that certain friends have provided useful information to them._

_Leliana stays behind, with Cullen and Josephine and Lavellan, and pulls the strings that make others dance._

_Occasionally, there is a strange raven that comes and sits on a cage and stares as she works. She smiles, knowing the smile is not private, and works on in contentment._

_And in the morning, the cry of a bird, the release of predator or prey, in life or in dreams._

**Author's Note:**

> My giftfic recipient asked for Morrigan and Leliana noticing how they had changed over the years, ending up in very different places than one might have expected from the story laid out in Origins, with bonus points for hardened, nasty Leliana. I found I couldn’t quite bear to leave her entirely hardened in the end, but I hope this satisfies! The relationship between them fascinates me, and I was very disappointed that Inquisition didn't provide interactions to explore it, especially in the context of the changes in their lives, so I was delighted to have a chance to write it.


End file.
